


Wolves Smile With All Their Teeth

by FrankieOlive



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 19:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8114110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankieOlive/pseuds/FrankieOlive
Summary: Bucky is trying.





	

Bucky's smile was part grimace- a wolf subconsciously looking for food. He smiled savage while his heart pushed wild copper through his body. He didn't remember how he used to smile but he knew now that people didn't like making eye contact with him. Their eyes darted past him, just another object in the room. When he first got back, he would practice in front of the mirror- pulling down his lips and positioning them to show enough teeth but never too much. It usually took him about a half hour to get it just right and then he would hold it there for hours. He would walk around his tiny apartment, pacing and smiling at his smudged floors- willing his muscle memory to take it in. It would stick for a while after that, as long as he was alone. He would hold it in his apartment long enough to get comfortable and then run outside to share it, only to realize his nerves turned it back into a growl on his way out the door. When he realized his face had betrayed him, he would slink back inside and head to the mirror to look for a version of himself that he remembered.  
Steve usually got home around 11 with a bag half full of groceries. He would put them down on the counter and swing his awkwardly large torso over to Bucky who tried not to chuckle. Stevie would always be a scrawny scrapper to him, even if his arms were currently larger than Bucks head. Bucky's chuckle would fade as Steve greeted him with a smile that Bucky desperately wanted to return. Instead, he would crouch down and ask Steve about his day while he scraped at a stain on the permanently dirty floor. Steve would talk about the comforting mundane parts of his day and throw in not so subtle hints about things he thought Bucky should do. “Yeah," Steve would say, "I took a walk today and it was just lovely, nothing quite like that fresh air." After Steve lightly shoving his ideas down Bucky's throat, he would ask him how he spent his day. Bucky would gesture out to the small grimy apartment and say "you think this place cleans itself?" Steve would laugh and start cooking dinner, keeping Buck in his peripheral. Steve would eat slow and watch Bucky attack his food with shifting eyes and a darting mouth. Steve would remind him that no one was going to take it away and Bucky would close his eyes and try not to kick Steve's chair out from under him. Bucky spent most of his day trying to talk himself down from a panic attack about the shadows outside the window and Steve was worried about the speed at which he ate? Bucky had no idea how he used to eat. He didn't know how to be the version of himself that Steve had memories with. Steve had no memories with the asset. Steve had no memories with the only part that Bucky could remember. Half the time when Steve said his name, he didn't realize he was supposed to turn around. He didn't recognize his name, he turned because there would always be something familiar in Steve's voice. Did Steve see something familiar in him? Or did he just wish he did? Did he spend his time wondering how he ended up sitting across from a faded memory who couldn't smile?  
This was their nightly routine. Bucky pretending to be okay, Steve pretending he thought Bucky was okay, and Bucky pretending he believed that Steve thought he was okay. They had both spent a lot of time in situations where being okay was the only option, the fact that they were safe now had never really occurred to either of them. Bucky was tired of the routine but he would never tell that to Steve. There were something about good intentions that made Bucky want to stab Steve 14 times and then rush him off to the hospital covered in his blood. He felt that day dream hard enough to make sweat swim on his neck and pull pinpricks of blood from his leg. He walked to the kitchen for a napkin to clean the mess his thoughts had left, when he noticed a small piece of paper on the floor next to the stain he was "cleaning" the night before. It was a drawing of Bucky walking around in the sunshine. He picked up the piece of paper and outlined the drawing with the blood from his leg. His lines weren't as clean as Steve's but it wasn't bad considering the painting material. He shoved the paper in his pocket, defeated, exhausted.  
He looped keys into his pocket and tried not to shake as he felt himself step outside. He turned to lock the door and felt comfort in being able to look down in a way that was socially acceptable. When he turned around he immediately realized his mistake. The sun was there to block his vision and make it harder to protect himself. The air was meant to taunt him into breathing poison and each person was a spy he had seen before. He closed his eyes and held his breath for a solid minute before thinking that was probably exactly what they wanted him to do. He tried to make his feet move, to will them to do anything besides keep him outside and exposed. He felt his throat start to close and his hands clench. He began to remember months underground and how badly he wanted to be outside- the darkness, the metal, the bruising, the buzzing in his temples. He opened his eyes, any reality was better than the one that lived in his mind. He tried to bring himself back, he was outside the apartment he shared with Steve, he had just locked the door. He looked down while he recited his previous actions to himself and remembered the comfort that the ground brought him. He continued to look at his feet and mumble while someone walked by with a dog. The little bugger slowed way down and found its way over to Bucky. She looked at him happily wagging her tail back and forth and waiting for Bucky acknowledge her. A reflex that he didn't remember willed him to a crouch as he began to pet the dog. He had achieved no more or less than the expectations of a living breathing thing and a feeling swelled in him that he later recognized as pride.


End file.
